


Ratchet gets Mooned

by ElitaOneSpark



Series: Sparkmates and sparklings [1]
Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Finding your sparkmate, Light Dom/sub, Mt St Hillary, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Sex Positions, Other, Revenge prank, Semi-Public Sex, Spark mated couples, The Ark, Unsafe data uploads
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:54:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25075708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElitaOneSpark/pseuds/ElitaOneSpark
Summary: Ratchet is known for two things; he can fix anything as Chief Medical Officer, and he will let you know about it with a dry wit as legendary as his temper and aim with throwing wrenches. Moonracer is the best sharpshooter femme in the universe, meaning she can offline anything. Bubbly, friendly, and naively optimistic. What will it take to get these two together? A Prime, one revenge prank and a run on the obstacle course. What happens next will take them beyond all imagination. And spread to affect the other Transformers.
Relationships: Chromia/Ironhide, Decepticons/Jazz, Elita One/Optimus Prime, Mirage/Firestar, Moonracer/Ratchet
Series: Sparkmates and sparklings [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1816030
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	1. Ice Moon

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is for all the Ratchet Moonracer fans out there, even though Optimus and Elita are first up for action with other pairs appearing later. There has to be a reason that the normally calm, patient Optimus would get even after all. This is rated "E" for explicit with interfacing and spark merges. Kudos and comments are love or areas to fix or characters to add. Movie verse with G1 mix with Ark at Mt St Hillary in Oregon state. 
> 
> Internal comm shown by:: talking:: with the name of the bot always on the end to identify and only heard between specific bots. ITALICS
> 
> Cybertronian time is Breem is 8.3 minutes, Joor is 6.5 hours, Orn is 13 days and Vorn is 83 years. And yes, full moons have different names around the world, some related to the season or time of year and others not.

**Chapter 1: Chapter 1 Ice Moon**

**Why Optimus wanted revenge**

Optimus, the last known Cybertronian Prime and commander of the Autobots gazed wistfully skyward before venting softly. The night sky above was clear and sparkling with a thousand pinpoints of starlight surrounding the full moon. The dramatic volcanic mountain behind him presented an iconic backdrop yet paled in comparison to his memories of Iacon’s vast skybridges and its many inhabitants. "Elita, I miss you," he murmured, feeling an ache in his spark. Thousands of years old and weary of their never-ending civil war, the commander cherished every moment with his spark mate and the current mission had sounded easy enough in premise.

"Accompany the resource team off world to the asteroid field as command to balance out Ultra Magnus. Land, scout the asteroids far side and return with the metals needed. Three months human time," he had requested of her. Elita had accepted and blasted off world with Wheeljack and the others. He and the remaining Autobots continued their alliance with the human military NEST, chasing down and eliminating their Decepticon foes. The new Autobot base being built at Mt St Hillary took the remaining time, occupying his processors but not his spark. Buried deep into the stone, the main corridor, recreation room and med bay surrounded by three offices and personal quarters to fit their larger sizes giving them freedom not found on any human made base. The construction would continue long past the lives of their supporters and be the home the Autobots needed until war’s end. The long dormant volcano and surrounding land preserves were devoid of human inhabitants providing a suitable area to build and shift from a military secret to protectors. And a quieter atmosphere to enjoy earth’s varied terrain and native animals.

A wolf howled, answered by its own kind further away as the large mech vented deeply again. "By this time tomorrow she and the others will land. I never thought a short time would seem so painfully long," he rubbed his nose plates, feeling his lack of recharge and waning energy. "Meetings, meetings and conferences. As much as these humans talk, I am surprised they have time to make war on each other. Or continue to demand our technology. Enough harm has been done with it without their complications."

The deep hum of an engine not built in any earth factory reached his audio sensors, defensive systems engaging. The night sounds of a hooting owl and rustling bushes instantly faded as battle systems on lined. "Ratchet," he identified the chief medical officer by his distinctive energy signature, standing down automatic weapons targeting. The familiar yellow green hummer vehicle rolled into view, clear in the moonlight.

"Missing a certain femme?" He greeted, rolling into the grassy meadow before transforming upward into his bi-pedal mode.

"I do not intend to miss anything on Elita," Optimus teased, at ease with one of his oldest and most trusted team members. Deer ambled down to the nearby stream, its running water a soothing sound in the night.

The medic pretended to vent, scaring the deer away before folding his hands over his chest plates. "Ahh, the proud Prime brought down to his knee plates by a rose-colored femme."

"The femme commander you refer to is capable of blowing out your kneecaps for a comment like that. We are equals on the battlefield and off," he reminded, his blue optics staring down at the shorter mech.

"You can't resist her for Cybertron's sake! Even now when you should be recharging you are out here pinning like a spark flaring youngling. Admit it, you bend to her will when she is around," Ratchet snorted, not intimidated.

"We are spark mated and I could resist her, but I will bend her for my pleasure," he teased back, moving his lower chassis suggestively.

Ratchet started to comment until the perfect prank formed in his core processor. "You win," he stated, holding both hands up in the universal surrender stance. "But I want you in med bay in the next breem for a check-up. I would be negligent in my care if you had any, how shall we say, misfires in your engines?"

Optimus tapped one footpad, watching his CMO warily before agreeing. He was notorious for avoiding med bay even when injured and he did want all systems functional for his mate. He willingly followed the other mech to med bay, slipping into recharge under the medical scans. At the main console, Ratchet completed the last lines of code, transferring the program to his wrist computer. A quick scan verified Optimus deep in recharge and his system guards down for adjustments. A single silver data cable slid out of the medic's wrist and into Optimus neck port, transferring the data then retracting silently.

Returning to the console, Ratchet accessed the medical relay into the other mech's systems and waited. The virus and firewall scanned the program, confirming its authentication and identity before allowing access. Ratchet snickered, watching the program upload itself and transition into Optimus' interface coding. "Ratchet - 1, Optimus - 0. Elita - not my problem," he stated quietly.

"Hey, Prime! Get your lazy aft up," he ordered, thumping a fist on the upper body of the larger mech. 'if you can get anything up that is,' he completed mentally. Optimus optics snapped open, automatically calling his rifle out of subspace and shifting to attack. Recognizing med bay and no apparent threats, he grunted while relaxing and unclenching his fist that was still trying to wrap around empty air instead of his ion rifle.

"Weapons and subspace pullers are disabled the astro second you roll through those doors remember?" the medic reminded. "Your safety and mine. There are too many holes in the ceiling now. Ironhide’s cannons making the first set before this room was even completed."

"Any problems?"

"None, other than your virus protection coding was out of date. I believe you mentioned irresponsibility in mechs who were not keeping it up to date in a memo last orn. Addressed it to both humans and our troops if I remember correctly. However, I will let it slide this time. Otherwise, firewall and systems integrity normal, all systems functional and on standby." He pointed to the readings on the assembled monitors, knowing the medical codes would not be read or downloaded.

"Understood," Optimus acknowledged then slid off the med bay berth, intent on escaping out the doors. They closed behind him and locked, barely in time for Ratchet to lose it laughing.

In his personal quarters the next morning, Optimus pulled out of recharge, running a quick internal systems review. Satisfied, he digitally accessed the distant base mainframe for retrieving reports from the night before. Stretching, he sat on the side of his recharge bunk remembering Elita's rose chassis and the angular feel of her metal shapes.

_Error message 458 - Interface system unable to comply. Appliance offline._

"Offline? What is offline?" Closing his bright blue optics, he accessed his self-repair AI module and the latest code updates. Furious, he lunged to his feet pads with his metal hands clenching in anger. "How dare that medic encode my system. And that system of any! I will reduce him to scrap." His battle systems charged, sliding the energon sword into his waiting hand before he stopped, controlling the anger. Venting deeply, he wrestled for self-control. The purple tint in his optics faded to reveal the normal blue coloring.

"I am a Prime, not a youngling. A prank is a prank. I will simply erase the coding. Elita will never know." Deliberately, he retracted the sword into its subspace housing up his arm plating and disengaged the battle systems. His face mask split into two, the pieces retracting back into his helm housing.

 _::Morning Prime. I sent an emergency budget request for a repair welder and wider exam table. Never know when I might need it. And how are we feeling?:_ : Ratchet opened their internal comm line.

: _:We? I am functional. And you?::_ Optimus asked, keeping his mental tone neutral.

 _::Busy. The space team returns today, and I have a multitude of check-ups scheduled. Remarkably busy except for extreme emergencies like reattaching arms, legs, or entire mainframe cores. Anything else will have to wait until tomorrow:_ : Ratchet

Optimus ground his jaw gears at the smug tone and unspoken implication the coding would remain until he figured out how to remove it.

: _:I will leave you to your work then_ : Optimus sent, closing the comm line. Ten breems later, the recharge berth bore the imprint of his metal fist in two places. The coding was not erasable, changeable, or alterable to his commands that he could find.

"Pit spawned slagger! I can open the crotch plate manually but there is no activation of the interface rod. It stays limp and folded up. Fine, the interfacing is physically offline. I know exactly what she likes and where. I will pleasure her into overloading then we will spark merge." He rubbed his armored hands together, a predator's gleam to his optics.

_Error message 213 Chest Slide component disabled. Programming controls offline._

Optimus grunted, pulling on his chest plates with his massive fingers and arm cables straining. The manual center lock undid, but the panels themselves refused to budge. "I can remove the armor the hard way, strip down to the protoform. Have Elita meet me in our quarters? Ton of work to get this military grade armor off but possible. No, wait an astro second. Ratchet is thorough. Please let him have forgotten to?" Optimus optics closed and he focused on the spark spire cover relay.

_Error message 398 Spark cover engaged. Programming controls offline. Unable to retract._

The recharge bunk received a third fist imprint. "The spark cover cannot be removed because it protects me during battle with the Matrix of Leadership. Ratchet processed everything!" he snarled. His chronometer beeped, reminding him to meet the approaching ship on the landing pad. Transforming, he rolled out his quarters leaving tread marks on the floor and nearly running Sideswipe over at the main entrance. The red mech leaped out of the way, staring at the angry sounding Peterbilt truck racing away.

The Cybertronian ship descended, dropping out of the clouds to settle with the barest tap onto the roadway. The official landing pad still in design phases, environmental requirements restricting its construction until plants and even a few trees could be moved for preservation before drilling support struts into the bedrock. The main hatch ramp lowered, and Optimus winced, his desire building even as his physical systems refused to respond. The mechs were walking down the ramp but his optics saw only Elita in the doorway.

Her rose-colored legs connecting to her rounded hip plates and up across her smooth white abdomen and cabling up to her exquisite rose upper body and slender arms. Her neck cables had him venting harder as they flexed with her turning this way and that trying to peer over the taller mechs. Then Wheeljack stepped aside and she saw him. His spark nearly burst with the joy that sang between their connected sparks.

Elita jogged down the ramp and up to him, the limp on her right side obvious as he frowned. 'Since when does she limp?' Then forgot everything else as his arms wrapped around her chassis and her frame rested against his.

"Are you functional?" He asked quietly, leaning down to touch her helm with his lip plates.

"I'm tired and missed you," Elita admitted quietly. "What, no heated welcome?" she teased, resting one hand on his crotch plate and her chassis hiding the movement from the other Autobots.

He chuckled, using the sound to hide his frustration as he grabbed her hand. "I can wait. And this is public even for us."

"Really, you are waiting?" Elita laughed, leaning back, and looking up at him. "No heaving chest, no hot covers, and no quivering lock controls to keep from extending and showing exactly how excited you are to see me?"

"For you, I would wait a thousand orns for a simple caress of my spark's desire," he murmured, his regal baritone soft and husky. Inside, he was practically melting from the accumulated heat without a hope of release. She leaned against him, keeping her weight off her right footpad. Deciding, he reached down and swung her up into his arms.

"Med bay later, you are mine! All mine!" He rumbled, turning, and carrying her towards their quarters. The other mechs teased them in Cybertronian, long used to their disappearing for privacy.

::I can walk:: Elita reminded even as she relaxed in his arms.

::Not when I am through with you:: Optimus winked an optic.

::Is that a promise?:: Elita

::Yes but not until the next solar cycle for our activities. You will recharge and heal tonight with self-repair and med bay for what your systems cannot fix. What happened?:: Optimus sent, tapping the silver scar welds without shifting his hands enough to jostle her.

"Rock fall. A bad one in an unstable open shaft. Asteroids are not like a planet for digging around. Self-repair activated but could not replace crushed metal. First Aid did what he could, but we lacked replacement parts. I lost my transform controls and a single bar and pin hold the leg for standing or moving. Pretty worthless in a fight even with pain sensors disabled. Ratchet is going to ream me for this one," she vented softly then tensed as the arms carrying her tightened. His optics blazed above her, a feeling almost like hate skipping across their spark link before disappearing under a wash of concern and desire.

The doors to their private quarters slid open, Optimus turning to step through sideways. Elita started to push off, expecting to be sat down then vented with excitement as he continued into their private room to lay her on their recharge berth. He stepped back, handing her an energon cube from the shelf and distract from seeing the three fist shaped indents in the bunk plate.

"Be needing my energy reserves after all?" she asked, raising her eyebrow plates.

"To heal," he stated firmly, taking the empty cube, and placing it back in its holder. Sliding next to her on the recharge bunk, he pulled her against his side then touched kissed her before settling back to rest. His core system was screaming heat warnings as his energon lines filled but his trans fluid pump remained offline. Two desperate attempts to break the coding locks failed.

"Optimus," she began, restlessly shifting next to him. "Not even a little interfacing?"

"Nothing is little with me," he teased back, stroking her faceplates with his massive armored fingers. Four more override attempts on the coding failed, his interface rod offlined and his chest plates locked.

"Please? I have missed your touch. Missed you."

Optimus almost broke down and told her about the terrible prank and the locked-out parts but did not. His pride held stubborn by the barest coding but held. "You are tired and injured. I will not add to it. However," he grinned mischievously, sliding his hand across her back plates. "A little magnetic pulsing," he tingled her center spine neural cabling. She vented hard, writhing in sensuality as the energy pulse hit her core systems. Her femme port slid open with an audible click and he smirked. The same hand magnetically pulsed her again as the other hand slid down towards the port. She gasped as his wide fingers trailed around her outer mesh edge, pressing inward. Moistening, she arched as another magnetic pulse hit.

Optimus waited until her movement slowed, pushing two fingers into her port, coating them in lubricant and rubbing her sensor nodes. "More," she gasped, grabbing his chest plates.

"Hmm, my femme wants more?" He teased, pulling out then pushing three fingers in further, moving them around before withdrawing.

"Quit teasing and interface already!" She commanded, more lubricant seeping from her port. He flexed his hand, reading a strong magnetic pulse and overrode safety locks. He caressed her lips with his then moved down her neck plating to her cables, biting softly. Releasing his jaw gears from her neck, his fingers thrust rapidly in and out her port.

'Now!' He processed, slamming her neuron cabling with his strongest magnetic pulse. Screaming, she arched, the flexible port closing tight around his fingers in her overload. His optics narrowed in pain as his systems surged, unable to release as his own spark beat on its casing.

"Ahh, that was… wow.Primus," Elita moaned, sagging against his broad chest plates as his fingers massaged her port edge then withdrew. "But you?"

"It's Optimus actually. And your pleasure is mine," he ground out, processors thrumming. "Rest, that's an order. Or I will force you into recharge."

"Force? Sounds like more pleasure," her voice drifted off as her optics slid close.

He wiped his sticky hand on the bunk covering, crushing the metal edge in frustration. "Beautiful femme by me all lunar cycle and nothing. Slagging medic. Probably hasn't been with a femme in so long he's forgotten he even has an interface rod." Then he laughed. In that moment, he sounded more like his brother Megatron as the plan formed. "Ratchet needs to remember what desire feels like. And I have the perfect coding program to achieve that." Optimus stretched out on their bunk, shifting Elita to the crook of his arm and across his chest plates.

The next morning he woke her, feeling frustrated and resisting her attempts at seducing him. "Your footpad is still slanted, and you need medical care. Self-repair cannot replace crushed metal. No arguments, I am Prime and your mate. Tonight I promise to interface your plating off and every lunar cycle thereafter until you cannot walk because of our banging metal," he promised.

Ratchet knocked on the outer room door, interrupting their conversation by sliding it open and smirking. "Enjoy your evening?"

Elita smirked, winking an optic. "Very enjoyable though lug nut here is overprotective. Do you have a program upgrade to tone that down?" She blinked in confusion as Ratchet snickered and Optimus growled.

_To be continued…_


	2. Bright Moon - Revenge on Ratchet, CMO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now it is Ratchet's turn to have his coding changed. And not in the way the medic would expect. The results are uplifting and unexpected with a result no bot could have foreseen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's notes: Thanks for the kudos and comments. Now it is Ratchet's turn to have his coding changed. Other couples and characters will appear in chapters, (next one starts the adjoining fun). The Transformers are not mine in any shape, size or form and are legally copyrighted, trademarked and owned by others 
> 
> The chapter names are for the phases of the moon. Ice moon is for January's full moon. Bright Moon is Celtic for May's moon.
> 
> Internal comm are shown by:: talking:: ITALICS

**Chapter Two – Bright Moon**

**Revenge on Ratchet**

Both mechs watched with narrowed bright blue optics. Ratchet’s multi ring optics intent on the delicately connected parts he was adjusting to a perfect fit and Optimus watching the medic’s hands touching his beloved Elita. The stasis locked femme lay on her side, the injured foot secured in a padded surgical block as repairs continued. The silence in the medical bay being broken only with the clunks of metal parts and tools.

"The nanites will finish overlaying her rebuilt parts and new lines then I can attach the external armor. Normal use immediately though I suspect you will keep her flat on her back plates for a few cycles," Ratchet chuckled, his tool extensions trans morphing back to armored fingers.

"I should offline you right here now that she is repaired," Optimus growled, traces of red seeping into his blue optical coloring as he stalked around the end of the medical berth towards the medic.

"Over a prank? Your own law requires two spark endangering events must occur before you permanently throw a bot into stasis." Ratchet was confident that med bay’s automatic systems disabled all weapons, before backing up rapidly. A leader class mech Prime’s size could rend metal with hands let alone the combat damage if he got wrestled around. 'Pit. I didn’t process he'd be this slagged off.' Ratchet circled again to the side, keeping Elita’s still form between them.

"Two events to lock into permanent stasis, not to disassemble a traitorous mech," Optimus snapped, folding massive blue and red-flamed painted arms across his chest plates. Imposingly tall, the heavily armored warrior radiated his resentment without moving.

"Traitorous? Adding lines of programming code is not treason even by human laws. You hurt no one; the coding disabled itself and proved my point. You cannot resist her and don't tell me it is passion when you are this slagged," he said, controlling the smirk he wanted to show. Disabled weapons would not save parts being torn off. And he needed his arms and hands attached as they were.

"You feel no passion or desire or little else as far as I can tell," Optimus stated.

"Passion? When I am surrounded by death and pain? I repair what I can, replace what I cannot, and my desire is for no more offline under my hands!" Ratchet snarked back, his optics spinning wildly before snapping shut and resetting. The warning he needed recharge flashed for the ninth time. His yellow green chassis shook briefly then stilled.

"I'm sorry," Optimus immediately apologized, wincing at his carelessness. Elita's repairs could have been postponed and were not, the utmost care used during her surgery, "I know what you go through. That was uncalled for."

"Yes it was. I'm weary," he held up his hand, forestalling further apology. "My schedule was slammed yesterday and I had emergency calls last night. Minor repair on Bumblebee's transform cog but you know how upset he gets. Ever since his capture at Praxus he fights any system intrusions, even my repairs. I didn't even lay back down in my own quarters and Sunstreaker's prank backfires bubbling off half the paint on his leg armor."

"Truly a disaster," Optimus teased, moving closer.

"You'd have processed it from the way his twin freaked out on the emergency call to me. The main energon lay line was nicked inside his hip plating but could have ignited or flared back up his spinal lines. I need recharge and less mechs lacking self-preservation protocols jamming up repair time," Ratchet sagged tiredly before backpedaling, armored hands raised half defensively.

"Easy, you are off the towing hook for now. Touch the coding for my interface rod again and I will turn over what remains of you to the Dinobots for a chew toy. Am I clear?" he rumbled menacingly, the family resemblance to his brother Megatron clear.

"Completely," the CMO agreed.

Two earth weeks later, with the help of Jazz as their resident spy and saboteur, Optimus accessed the medical bay computers. The next time Ratchet downloaded reports on the status of his patients, a single patch of coding uploaded into his systems. Jazz assumed a harmless setting like changing the color of a bot's armor to purple or black, a common prank of late. Optimus smirked, sending out an alert to all femmes for a surprise practice racecourse run. Naturally, he asked medical staff to attend in case of accidental injury. At the same time, a human budget meeting across two time zones would occupy Prowl, Ironhide, and himself. First Aid, Hound and Jazz left on a scouting mission that morning per his orders.

Early evening had Ratchet monitoring the racecourse as the only resident medic. The human delivery vehicles had accidentally created a rough hewn path to drop off supplies early in the Ark construction, the imperfect roadway metamorphosed for alien use. A circle eight shape with randomly scattered obstacles and attack drones challenged their vehicle modes in an outside course. "Four dents, three paint mars and five rounds to go. Is this racing or a demolition derby?" Wincing, another entry added his internal repair list as Firestar’s and Chromia's alt modes collided, scraping paint, and throwing sparks down their sides. Arcee and Elita raced the other direction, the four femmes barely missing each other as they crossed paths in the center. Ratchet froze, gauging how close the near miss was. The next attack level began, training drones popping up to be driven over and flattened or avoided.

Moonracer slid out on the far turn, the victim of a randomly programmed pretend explosion, the force careening her over the protective wall before rolling down across the meadow grass. The mountain breeze whisked away what little dust thrown into the air.

Transforming up into her bipedal mode, the sharpshooter femme rubbed at a dent on her lower arm, just above her gun bracing. Her lip plates moved but the swearing words were too soft for even Ratchet's hearing to discern over the other femmes racing engines. His enhanced optics immediately spun, focusing in, ' _repairable damage, non-spark threatening_ ' while advanced medical sensors noted the location and appending the repair lists. Unaware of his watching, she knelt in one graceful motion, stretching her armored arms over her helm. Then twisting her upper chassis his direction, she reset a loose cable on her back struts.

"Needs a brace to keep that cable from entangling during rapid transform," he murmured. Bending down, Moonracer reached her arms forward, small twitches identifying her spine connections stretching and sliding into place. Then his optics focused on her aft. The squared, angular shape of her dark blue plating overlaying the light blue protoform as it faced his direction. "Perfect size for her leg extensions to connect into. Or anything else," he murmured. His vision darkened then brightened as golden lines of unfamiliar medical code flowed across and disappeared. "What the?" He ran a quick self-diagnostic.

_Core system undamaged - Normal functioning. No upgrades, patches or virus detected. No port intrusions, all systems running at full functionality._

His crotch plate locks released with a click. Embarrassed, he covered himself with one hand, running a diagnostic on guidance controls.

_No coding errors found - All systems working at full functionality._

He manually snapped the locks shut, glad no mech or femme was nearby even as his rod remained tucked and folded. Moonracer rose back to her feet pads, brushing off the simulated explosive shards and he felt a tingle turning into pooling warmth inside his middle plating. Elita One made a comment as she raced by and Moonracer laughed, her chassis bouncing with the amusement. The deepening warmth inside his middle grew and spread as she moved, gesturing in a conversation too far away to overhear. The afternoon breeze swirled around him, rippling across his member.

Horrified, Ratchet snapped his optics down to the full-extended length of his interface rod now visibly erect. His system ignored the immediate command to disengage and return. Attempting to hide it under his hands, he ran a frantic diagnostic and command override. It stayed extended and his cooling system kicked on, trying to adjust to his emotional mortification. Moonracer turned his way, finally seeing him distantly across the course.

_::You available for a quickie touch up?_ :: Moonracer gestured to her arm dent and he did the unthinkable.

Transforming, he barely suppressed the scream as the rapid transform trapped his extended rod tight. "That slagging hurt!" he swore, rocking on his wheels. Racing away, he missed the distress on Moonracer's face.

Reaching med bay, he slid inside the doors, transforming back up and nearly screaming. Venting hard, Ratchet remotely triggered the security locks on the heavy metal dual doors. Extending his wrist cable connection, he plugged into the medical frame database diagnostic system.

_Program code change. Patch uploaded at 06:00 hours, medical interlocks engaged per line coding._

"Program uploaded? What code lines?"

The system ran through its computations again, popping up a message display window.

_Program will self-remove after twenty-four hours human time. Enjoy the uplifting experience, Optimus Prime._

"That thick chipped slagging Prime! I will remove this program and weld his aft to the ceiling for this!"

Three breems later, Ratchet admitted defeat. The program enhancements were not removable, repairable, or changeable and every attempt only excited his system further. Sensor warnings flashed his core heat was nearing maximum without releases. Straining, he stumbled forward, leaning against the medical berth. Too ashamed to call for help and too proud to admit defeat and ask Prime for the unlock code he did the only thing he could. One hand gripped his extended rod length while the other braced his weight against the medical berth. He began pulling on it from base to rounded tip. Less than half a breem later he overloaded, spewing trans fluid onto the floor before sinking to his knee plates.

Ratchet hands flattened on the medical berth, tightening into fists. He was disgusted with himself. "First time medic? A third frame youngling just learning control could have lasted longer than that. Enhanced program or not." Then the incoming medical ping marked high priority had him wincing.

_::Go with transmission::_ Ratchet, CMO sent back, praying there were no true medical emergencies.

_::Moonracer to CMO. Are you available for minor repairs?:: Moonracer_

_::Negative. If minor, please schedule with First Aid for later. I am currently unavailable:_ : Ratchet sent back, quickly closing the line as her voice activated the same tingling sensation inside his systems. Imposing the same self-control that kept him focused on repairs in the middle of a battle, he kept a repeat erection from happening, but barely. Sani rags cleaned up the oily mess, removing any evidence.

_::Prime to CMO. Femmes are done on the racecourse. Are you available for repairs?::_ Prime

_::NO! You pit spawned glitch! And do not hide behind your rank!_ :: Ratchet

_::I hide nothing and now neither do you. An unexpected result?:_ : Prime sent, his mental tone smug.

_::Results like your next ten physicals and system flushes are going to be remarkably interesting Optimus::_ Ratchet snarled over their private comm line.

_::Looking forward to them under your qualified medical expertise. Keep me informed of any rising situations::_ Prime closed the comm line with a hearty chuckle.

Ratchet considered beating his forehead on the berth whilst slumping down to the floor. "One earth day to survive this. Reschedule all my appointments, transfer emergencies to my assistant First Aid then hide in my personal quarters. Hardest part is transforming and staying in my alt mode. I hate being stuck in my alt mode, but I don't dare see any bot else in person," he groused, wary of how rapidly the interface arrays would trigger again.

The trip to his quarters was short and without incident. He encountered no other Transformers, and steadily disregarded the base areas still under construction, rolling around the stacked materials in the half-built hallways. Stone walls disappeared behind metal plating, both comforting as a reminder of their home and disheartening it only hid the alienness of the earth to their optics and not their sensors. He missed Cybertron. Missed being needed to help guide as a politician and wanted as a mech for what he could offer, not repair.

Remotely triggering his private door locks, Ratchet rolled to a stop inside, transforming up and sliding the door closed. His emotional distress combined with his fatigue had him wobbling as he forgot to reengage the locks when heading for the recharge area. A few steps across the secondary smaller room and he flopped down on the recharge bunk, resting his hands on his helm, and resisting the urge to whimper.

'Bested by a red and blue joker. Moreover, in a publicly degrading way. Our pranks are between us, not for the whole galaxy to know. Except when I painted him pink and added the shifting flower holograms. Okay, maybe deactivating his systems with Elita One returning from a long-term scouting mission was a bit much but he could have returned the favor. Instead of boosting it a thousand slagging times!'

A knock on his outer door distracted him. "Who is it?" he asked, sliding off the bunk without trying to identify the energy signature.

"Moonracer. Can I come in?"

"No! I am busy. Call First Aid!" he shouted feeling his systems engaging. To his horror, the outer door began to slide open, her blue armored hand on the edge. He spun, facing the bunk as though working on it. "Please leave. I am unavailable."

"Why?" she asked softly, entering the room, and leaving the door ajar. "Did I do something wrong? Are you mad at me?" her tone was light and danced across his audio sensors.

"No, it is not you. I am… not functioning completely," he admitted, looking over his shoulder at her.

"Do you need medical attention? I can help," Moonracer offered, stepping closer and inside the smaller berth room. His optics spun, the very sight of her slim chassis engaging his interface rod response. It extended fully and remained out despite dozens of rapid commands to disengage and return.

"I need to be left alone," he gripped the bunk edge, lowering his optics in shame. "Please leave. I will explain later but," he hesitated, the barest quaver shadowing his vocal tones. "You need to leave. Now."

"You cannot even face me and tell me to get out!" she growled, grabbing, and spinning him around. Unprepared, he flailed out his arms for balance before steadying against her arm plates. Optics wide, Moonracer was staring, no gaping down at him as her venting increased.

"I would never… that is…I want…" He trailed off, too embarrassed to continue, his obvious desire showing. He waited for her screams, her rifle blast, and her angry voice telling him to go frag himself and never approach her again. Instead, she curved her lip plates into a smile when he finally looked up.

"Is this the reason?" she stepped back away from him, gesturing down.

"Yes," he admitted.

"You want me?"

"Isn't it obvious that I cannot control it?" He challenged softly; the bitterness of his tone surprising even him.

"All you had to do was ask," she stated, matching optic to optic. Engine revving, she stepped forward, bracing on his shoulder plates, and pushed. He stumbled backwards, bumping against the recharge bunk. Trying to get away from her, he hopped onto the bunk. The main door closed, the locks engaging as she raised her hand. "Privacy if you don't mind." Without warning, she jumped for the bunk, swinging her leg up and over him, knocking him flat on his back plates.

"Are you?" he asked, cooling system failing as his spark rattled in his chest. She straddled him at his hip plates, bracing her hands on his heavily armored chest. An audible click signaled her valve cover opening.

"I want what you want," she stated firmly, leaning down to touch helms.

'Optimus offline and his aft on a platter?' he thought then stopped processing as their lip plates touched. Arching up, he ground against her. She responded, pressing her lower chassis down against his. He could hear and feel the vibration of her systems revving against his interface rod trembling with building pressure.

Moonracer removed her hands off his chest plates, leaning way back to push her hips forward to show him her femme port was open and glossy with lubricating fluids. He vented hard, clinical professionalism failing at the sight. Sitting up, his yellow green hands clenched her forearm plates, pulling her back down.

"I...please..." He began when her armored hand covered his lip plates. Wordlessly, she slid her legs further to the sides, teasing his tip against her moistened entrance.

“My mech wants. I want,” she smirked, her valve sliding down his length until they hilted. Plunged deep inside her, Ratchet's systems revved hotter, his blue optics deepening to near purple with lust. Then they began moving in rhythm.

Pure ecstasy flooded his systems as they peaked together, the overload hitting his processors hard, optics offlining. They came online to the ceiling above, Moonracer alongside between him and the back wall. Her optics focused on his.

She mewled softly, cuddling across his broad chest. "You overloaded fast. Wow, I loved that," she practically purred to his utter shock.

"What… why?" he stuttered. embarrassed at how quickly he came.

She leaned up on one elbow plate, her soft glimmering optics focusing on his. The look only a satisfied and happy post fragged femme wore. "Most mechs take slagging forever, denting our protoform, and scrape our sensitive valve mesh or nodes leaving us sore. Know why?"

"Make the pleasure last?"

She barked a short tight laugh. "Pleasure? To be hurt and pounded? Not to any femme I know!" she vented hard. "Truth is it's a process to them. A little grabbing, some rough groping then continual pounding until they overload which takes a while because they are not processing you as anything but a stress relief. Why do you process we femmes have our own quarters and refuse so many requests for our company? Spark mated pairs get excited by a single processing and can overload anywhere at any time."

"I know. I am chief medical officer," Ratchet reminded, daring to trail one armored finger lightly down her cheek plates and onto her throat cables. She leaned into the caress, swirling the glyph for love and safety on his chest plates with her hand.

"Your reaction," she laughed, "was strong and fast. All for me. That made me hot and triggered my overload without damage."

"True," he acknowledged, the medical sensors input confirming that fact. He caressed down her front and onto her middle amour, and then pulled back as the feel of her smooth metal began charging his systems rapidly.

"Oh frag," he moaned.

"Hmm, what did you say? Frag?" she leaned down as his swelling rod tapped her leg. "You want more? Already?" She asked, shifting up on her side against the wall, her face plates showing no expression.

"I… understand if you don't want to…" he trailed off, ready to offline from embarrassment. The touch of her hands on his chest focused him as she leaned in close.

"You drive and dominate this time. I understand," Moonracer smirked, rolling over to balance on all fours. She wiggled her aft teasingly. He vented, relieved at her reaction and feeling the pressure of his system building again as he moved behind her. Ratchet nuzzled her, his hands leaving feather light caresses across her upper chassis before moving lower. He slid his longest finger in her valve, feeling her warm lubricant spreading as medical sensors read the mixture down to the molecular level. He pumped her a few times confirming her readiness before withdrawing his fingers. His enhanced frame included a thicker rod and the ability to pump lubricant more than any mech to prevent injury; their new position increasing his control thrusting while rubbing her deepest linked sensors.

His wider hips slid across hers, his chassis pushing forward. Writhing, she surprised him by thrusting back and against him, spread wide as he slowly eased in. Venting, he plunged into her valve full hilt then set a fast pace.

They overloaded together, resting until Moonracer's caress across his mid plates triggered his hyperactive system again. Repeatedly, they enjoyed each other only interfacing, resting in between as evening became night. Then shifting to grab a cleaning rag, she leaned close to his chest casing, her spark thrumming. Nearing exhaustion from breems of activity without true recharge, the last safety lock on his system disengaged to pull more energon. Ratchet's spark pulsed outward, triggering the chest panels to slide open. Hers matched. The resulting spark merge had them both screaming and going temporarily offline.

A steady beeping dragged Ratchet out of recharge. The unfamiliar weight on his side and chest plates snapped him into true consciousness. The beeping from his AI indicating a major system change. "Moonracer," he whispered her name, feeling his spark sing in its casing. The lightest touch of his shaking armored hand confirmed she was real and not a recharge projection. Her spark sang back to his, muted but a solid presence to his processors. Venting rapidly, he nearly stasis locked as the new coding to his system scrolled.

"Oh my blessed Primus. We are spark mated. She is the one. My equal," he whispered in terror and delight. His entire system had realigned to the frequency they now shared. He could feel her living presence wrapped around his own even as her chassis lay on his.

_To be continued…_


	3. Hunter's Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet and Moonracer enjoy their personal private time together in his quarters. Optimus Prime frets as neither appear publicly and begins to worry he went too far. A check of the uploaded program creates unexpected complications among the base staff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: Thanks for the kudos, comments and adding bookmarks for updates. Mt St Hillary is in Oregon and becoming the new Autobot base while Prime is flamed warrior and Ratchet a yellow and green rescue hummer. Jazz is a solstice silver car. Mirage and other mentions are their Generation 1 cartoon forms. 
> 
> Hunter's Moon is from Colonial America for the full moon in October. 
> 
> And as a friendly remember, if you cannot confirm the source of a program, do not open and upload it! It could contain a virus with unexpected consequences including protocol programs, Decepticon virus and unknown data files. Thank you from the Autobot security staff.

CHAPTER THREE _ HUNTER"S MOON

Moonracer's optics cycled open, automatically looking for a target as her battle systems went into standby, registering only Ratchet nearby. The sight of his yellow green armor had her smiling even as various minor damage reports from her medical unit began scrolling past her optics. A single line of updated block coding flashed by, the medical reference unknown containing a energy level warning and therefore ignored. Their passionate evening and throughout most of the night left her blissful and banged up across her protoform. The feel of the medic's strong grip across her exposed mid plates and the solidness of his frame was reassuring as she nudged him awake.

"Please state the nature of the emergency," his optics flashed open.

Giggling, the femme rapped gently between his optics with her closed fist. "No more space TV shows for you. I need to get up." Her other hand moved to wrap her fingers in between his least he misunderstood.

“Getting up is my line,” he teased back, nipping playfully at her neck cabling.

“If I stay here, I want your medical services.”

“Moonie, you can have all of me you want, medical included.” Ratchet promised, continuing to move his lip plates down her arm. The coding upload from Optimus had long eased from his systems, now the mech enjoyed the feel of his spark mate. Her metal edges were smooth and energy vibrant as his sensitive fingers caressed it. No broken jagged edges or charred fragments from battle rippled under his delicate movements.

“Ugh! Stop. I have to have repairs before you go one more micron lower,” Moonracer complained, shifting her weight against him did nothing, his mass was too solid to move though both arms pinning Ratchet’s arm down got his attention. Even a sniper knew combat holds.

“Only for you will I interrupt foreplay, to be a Doctor,” he good naturedly grumbled, swinging his entire chassis up and over her form to stand by the berth. He stretched both arms straight up, realigning a shoulder gear. The fact his mech parts, though limp and covered with her lubricant and their trans fluid stains, remained at optic level for her reclining on the berth did not escape Moonracer’s notice. The pain sensors across her protoform pounded louder than the start of her need to have him. He glanced down, lingering across her inner chest plates before his multi-layer optics narrowed, identifying damage.

“Why didn’t you say something,” his hands hovered over her spark cover assessing the extent of the damage.

“I did. As in I want your medical services,” she reminded, feeling his feather light touch tracing her separation seam.

“Gear is stripped and the power unit blown. I carry spares for those, you are the standard configuration,” Ratchet said, beginning to remove parts out of subspace.

Moonracer waited, watching as the pile of parts began accumulating on the floor. “What is all that?”

“Items I hide in subspace to keep away from the others. Wheeljack is always needing this part or that then another if the first is blown up. Twins stealing stuff and the scouts with emergency repairs to return to the field long enough for one more mission,” Ratchet stated, shifting sideways as the pile wobbled, the top pieces bouncing down to roll near his feet pads. “As a medic, my pullers are larger.”

“I’ll say,” she smirked, careful to not rub her leg plating together. She did note that not one femme related item appeared other than standard repair parts.

“I tend to acquire everything from random connectors to confiscated power cores. Once the new storeroom is built and a door keypad lock installed I can dump them there to properly inventory. Found the parts, about time. Course, we will have to test them out thoroughly,” he smiled then leaned in close, remarkably close to her faceplates.

Moonracer vented, seeing the switch from medic to mech. Ratchet’s optics began darkening to purple with desire as his hands started unsnapping her spark catches.

**MED BAY**

Optimus strode into med bay, the smirk on his silver faceplates visible with his battle mask pieces retracted back. Normally the last mech to appear there unless dragged in for repairs; his large stride had a bounce to it as he moved to the center of Ratchet's personal domain. "Ahh, the triple chime announcing there is some bot in med bay is like sweet music this early solar cycle," he processed, venting deeply. He stood feet pads wide apart, white square armored hips powerfully locked and his upper chassis proudly forward, arms back to show off his massive cables and large struts with his spreading flames paint.

"Good morning Prime. How may I be of assistance sir? Is your face mask stuck again? It is not causing you any pain or discomfort?" First Aid stepped into view, appearing out of the office normally occupied by Ratchet. The smaller mech's red and white armor was spotless and in working order as his boss would expect. His blue optics spun, lightly scanning the ancient Prime without intruding on any sensitive systems.

"No emergency and no parts are stuck. Is our CMO available for a quick office consult?" Optimus smirk faded, realizing the medic's energy signature was not present nor even a residual trace as though he had not been there in the last joor.

"Ratchet is taking personal leave time. He left me in charge unless a critical situation requires his emergency expertise," the assistant answered.

"I will comm him with a request to update the supply requests before the next staff meeting. No hurry," Optimus reassured. The walk back to his working office on the upper lever added to his tension. "Is he still mad at me? Did I go too far?" Digitally, Optimus accessed the emergency system, tracing Ratchet's signal to his personal quarters. The same location he had retreated to after the angry comm call the day before.

"Still online and functional if secluded. Is he planning another payback? What will I find in my office?" Optimus wondered, pausing with his armored hand before the door keypad. As Chief Medical Officer, the other's intelligence and mechanical ability made him a force to be reckoned with.

"Hey boss bot!" the cheerful vocal sounding behind him nearly sent Optimus jumping out of his armor.

"Jazz! Do not sneak up on me," he grumbled, standing down his weapon locks. His armored fingers unclenched, the command to stop the ion rifle from appearing out of subspace barely in time. And the impulse to step backwards on the parked car’s hood.

"That is why I get the big credits. Best spy here. Be a shame to waste all that talent when you wanted to see me," Jazz kidded. The silver solstice car transformed up into the mech, his silent coasting in approach successful.

"The program we downloaded the other day. Any problems attached to it? Broken lines of code? Incomplete data marks? Anything unusual that might slip past our processor checkers?" Optimus asked, his vocal tone nonchalant as his worry deepened.

"None. Seemed normal, let me run it by the security systems," the spy led the way into Prime's office, sliding the giant desk chair out and sitting on it. His smaller silver armored frame barely filled the seat even as his feet pads dangled well above the floor. Quick taps of his armored fingers across the main datapad brought the program up. Jazz scanned the first lines, his hand resting at the bottom of the screen, hiding the bar moving left to right showing the copy transmitting to his personal data core. Finishing, the data load bar faded out before Jazz spun the datapad monitor around for the other's benefit. "Want me to debug it or try it out myself?"

"No! I will review it personally. No need for concern. And I have a scheduled planning session with Prowl," Optimus stalled, wanting to go over the program codes in depth later. His large armored hand closed the datapad, as his helm tilted towards the door. The gesture an obvious unspoken order to leave.

"Don't stay cooped up too long. Femmes doing another practice run against the scouts on the obstacle course later solar cycle. Betting favors Chromia offing Bumblebee and Hound first round," Jazz waved, leaving.

Optimus nodded, gathering up datapad for the meeting and left, engaging the external door locks. The ones that kept others out but allowed any bot inside to leave as they chose. No reason to set those, as he had personally watched Jazz leave. Seconds later, Mirage appeared out of the air beside the large metal desk, his blue and silver chassis shimmering into full existence as his cloaking field disengaged. "Program? I wonder if this is the target Ironhide mentioned for our stealth games next week? Burn a copy and upload it. Never hurts to be prepared."

That afternoon, Ratchet still had not appeared either personally or professionally. Both minor medical emergencies inside the new Ark base were answered by First Aid and Optimus. The ancient Prime using the excuse to check on situations in person to better know his own staff and the layout of the base as they were building it inside the dormant volcano. His worry shifted to anxiety as the hours passed.

:: Have you seen Moonracer?:: Optimus sent to Elita alone. The blue armored femme would have given him a clue to anything Ratchet was planning by her comments. Or if she drew her blaster and threatened to shoot the ancient Prime. However, she had not appeared either. Not a good sign.

:: No, she traded shifts with Firestar. Why? Is there a problem?:: Elita answered, her mental tone curious.

:: Verifying schedules before Prowl brings it up as an issue:: Optimus answered, closing the comm line. 'He is still in his quarters. I will wait until tomorrow morning. If Ratchet has not appeared by then I am rousting his aft out, no matter how many wrenches he throws.'

Inside the medic's private quarters, Ratchet shifted his arm tighter around his mate, savoring the feel of her armor. Or rather the lack of. Both were stripped down to their protoform, his armor colors contrasting with her pieces strewn about the floor of his recharge room. The scattered parts pulled out of subspace made the mess worse. Neither cared.

Ratchet's spark pulsed to a different frequency, flagged by his internal medical systems. "Spark mate. Merged but for a moment, the change will last forever," he quoted, his lip plates running down her neck cables. Sheepishly he traced indentations left in her lines from his earlier excitement. Ratchet added a repair notation to replace the line, more to hide his marks than any threat of the line failing at that weak point.

"Go away, I need recharge and energon," Moonracer murmured.

"If you can vocalize, you are not in recharge but right where I want you."

"Which is?" One blue optic unshuttered to focus on him.

"In my grip," he chuckled, his hands stroking down the side of her faceplates before continuing across her upper front.

"Can you grip a repair tool? My valve edging throbs," she admitted, opening both optics as he shifted from mech to medic.

"Hold still, let me check," Ratchet shifted on the recharge berth, moving lower to scan for damage. She giggled, seeing his green yellow helm between her upraised legs before venting as the pain disappeared almost immediately.

"Repair coding to suppress the neural signals while I get the nanite cooling gel. You definitely need straightening of your rim plates," he said.

"It is because of your straightening thick rod I need repairs," Moonracer joked, feeling the tight cables easing and pain relays shutting off.

"Slag it! I am out of gel. Not an item I usually carry on my shell," Ratchet admitted sheepishly.

"I can requisition a tube from the medical supply," she began.

"Absolutely not!" he leaned over her, his arms on both sides of her upper chassis. His strong presence held her in place more than his physical touch. "I will not have you suffering or be seen in public looking like this. Bent chest plates and lower frame covered in more trans fluids and purple lubricant than mini bots can produce."

"Really? I thought about sending Elita a picture and saying hah! My mech is better," she teased.

"Only if you copy it to Optimus at the same time," Ratchet joked.

"Can we wait until after the next shift change?"

"Why?"

"Firestar will be done with her lab work. I do not want her knowing I traded duty shifts to be fragged into ecstasy," Moonracer admitted.

"Ecstasy huh? Have to work harder on that and frag you senseless and no sparking until I have you in med bay for repairs," Ratchet promised.

**MAIN RESEARCH LAB**

**LEVEL THREE (UNDER CONSTRUCTION)**

Firestar rubbed at her left optic tiredly, straightening the outer rim ring yet again. "What was I processing agreeing to this trade?" Her orange armored hand descended, attaching the label onto the last glass test tube before slotting it into the holding rack with the other tubes.

Her right hand tapped the datapad keys, updating the specimen lists and results. "Nothing to do but wait, wait and more waiting. Fourth of a joor before the next set finishes. How many times do we have to test the soil around here to prove the Ark is non-pollutant? Stupid humans worry we might contaminate this area when their cars leave worse pollution vapors to drive out and get our results."

A touch drifting down her cheek plate causing her to drop the label pen. "Who?" went unanswered as an unseen touch ghosted over her front chest armor.

"How long?" Mirage whispered in her audio.

"For?" she barely stammered out, feeling his invisible hands moving, tracing down her most sensitive back neuron junctions. Her chassis arched into the touch, awakening long dormant pleasure programs. The secretive touches a move out of her deepest fantasy of seduction. He could have not known but her systems responded.

"How long since you were loved like you deserve?"

“Vorns long.” Firestar shivered as her spark beat against her casing, the energon flowing in her lines as her valve moistened. Would he take her? How could she ask him as not sound like a wanton spark? She wanted to be fragged and sparked and fragged again. Over the desk, on the floor or standing did not matter at this point. But she remained still, conflicting desires running through her.

Invisible meant every stealth system Mirage had was dialed up to maximum. Her energy signature throbbed across his visuals, the valve and spark speed noted. The priority and secondary priorities to his protocols demanded he take her as his prize. The noble upbringing and manners ingrained in his personality meant he would ask first then try to persuade her to accept his offer. If not, he would continue his quest with another femme. His battle AI blazed. Subject acquired and action was needed. This target would not escape them until it had met his every demand.

"Why are you here? Why invisible? What has gotten into you?" She challenged softly.

"Question is gentle femme, will I be in you?"

_To be continued…_


	4. Budding Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Start with one prank; add a femme, mix in a medic and instant complications. Now the virus is loose in the Ark base still under construction. Add a paranoid security officer, a regal aristocrat ops agent and femmes and the fun continues. Ratchet has to tell Moonracer, Prime needs to apologize and keep his helm and Firestar is about to get all she wants and needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: Thank you for the kudos and comments. The Mirage section expanded from a few sentences to paragraphs as requested. Special shoutout to fantasyaddict101 for working out fic ideas. 
> 
> Budding Moon is the spring full moon, named for the early flowers as they are shifting from buds to full blooms.

**ARK BASE, MT ST HILLARY, OREGON**

**RATCHET’S PRIVATE QUARTERS**

"I believe your exact words were frag me senseless, a promising way to enter stasis," Moonracer reminded. The sharpshooter femme tugged free the recharge cover, crumpling it into a ball the moment the far corner freed off the berth. Turning slowly, she chucked it precisely into the cleaner bin on top of their damp towels and cleanser cloths from the wash racks. Ratchet's quarters had the adjoining set-up, allowing them privacy to get clean, a perk of being a command officer.

"You can be rendered senseless without fragging," Ratchet stated in his professional vocal tone while trailing his skilled fingers over and around a sensitive gear in her wrist. Smiling, she relaxed her arm as he adjusted the joint bearings before adding war armor plating back on. “Prowl’s logic glitch drops him unpredictably and that is without Jazz trying to trigger it for fun. The Dinobots or rather their dinosaur alt mode tails have knocked Wheeljack and a few mini bots off their feet pads. Too slow to duck or pay attention. Skyfire’s backwash from launching has sent Cliffjumper and Gears tumbling backwards with the concussive air, and Mirage has been hit from behind accidentally while cloaked and his attention forward. Face planting him to be stepped on and tripped over.”

Moonracer giggled, hating the soft feminine sound of it but enjoying the images presented. “And human NEST military teams drive awful! I remember them colliding with Ironhide then Arcee. Only they were knocked over, not our bots. Hand me that shoulder piece please. I need to lock it on before the outer chest plates hinge in.”

“Maybe I should request Wheeljack to design a rapid release for your chest armor,” Ratchet teased, trailing one hand down her shoulder strut.

“That is called an explosion and no thank you. Only fifty-six more armor pieces and I am reframed. Maybe I could wait on a few if you keep doing that.”

**MAIN RESEARCH LAB**

**LEVEL THREE (UNDER CONSTRUCTION)**

Mirage rubbed his helm alongside her's before gently rolling her onto her back. He tapped Firestar’s helm before pressing his lip plates firmly on hers. His hands moved to rove across her red chest armor confirming her stable spark signature as she on lined. He was not done with her yet but she was too vital to risk.

Firestar stirred slowly, pleasure coursing through her circuits. The last overload was still tingling across her circuitry, the wet feeling between her plating unusual and welcomed. Pings sounded under her metal as the cooling mechanisms struggled to keep up. The femme felt her temp rise further, deep venting with a combination of embarrassment and satisfaction. “When you first appeared, I was not sure how to answer. Your request surprised me and I never expected this.”

“I needed to know your secrets,” the aristocratic mech corrected, stroking one hand across her chestplates slowly. “You told me.”

Her memory files opened.

“You will tell me everything I ask of you. Resistance is futile and a waste of time. You will give me what I want.”

“Which is?” She sparred, bringing up safety programs to hit him with a stun pulse to buy time. Time in the nano seconds she needed to subspace and charge a hand blaster if needed. Tracing his voice back meant firing lower and over a wider area but the lab room limited his movements. Whether invisible or clearly seen, his frame blasted into stasis on the floor would be the same result.

“The data you keep hidden. Known only to you.” Mirage formed into place right before her as she remained seated, his optics purple colored with lust.

“Of? I know many things,” she prompted, opening a secure channel to Command. The first hint of any danger and help would arrive in time to pick up his pieces.

“What makes your spark spike in excitement. To turn your words into moans with anticipation, begging for glorious release. To soar into screams with every want met. Is it on the ground pinned down in narrow cover under a scout? Feeling the roving pings of a medic in your deepest places femme? To be told of your beauty that takes our sparks captive with mere words as we cover every inch of your armor with fragrant polish oils?”

She faltered with the realization his smooth voice was asking her to describe her every lustful fantasy. Would he, could he fulfill them? The increasing lubricant against her valve cover made her squirm. Was he serious or an elaborate prank or recharge vision she would awake from and feel stupid for believing?

“I have many ways to stimulate a bot gained over a lifetime of experience,” he stated calmly as though discussing the weather. He kneeled, locking optic to optic. “Whether in pain or pleasure is up to them. I would prefer you to remember my skills with desire and not fear.”

“You really want to know my desires? To be bent over from behind like a war frame pounding deep in my valve, protecting and taking. On all fours and dominated over like a seeker claiming me as his own above all others. And,” she stopped, embarrassed. Never to another femme would she admit wanting to be dominated and her processor was spinning out information instead of concentrating on returning to her assigned work. She twitched in her seat, tilting her hips forward as he reached to rub across her outer sensor hub and valve cover.

He laughed; the chuckling sound muffled. His AI pinged its satisfaction at her partial confession. They were making progress. They had chosen well. She was strong but not resisting. Most femmes fought them, wanting to be in charge, riding them and telling them what to do. This one wanted them. Needed them. His hands gripped her waist, keeping her pinned on the chair as he stood. He ran his hands down her armored shoulders then pulled, lifting her up. Confused, she rose to her feet pads as he kicked the chair to the side. He touched her lip plates with a single finger before trailing it down her chest plates and leaning in close. "You will not be needing this," he whispered. His hand traced across her white mid armor and down in between her legs. She vented in surprise as her center plating unclipped. He tossed it onto the lab counter then took half a step back releasing her. He leaned his face in close again. "Stay still."

"Or what?" She asked.

“There will be consequences," he growled. He nearly touched his lip plates to hers then grabbed her, spinning her around with all his strength and designed combat speed. Energon flowed into his lines, audios and optics sharpened as his interface rod thickened and straightened. One hand pinned both her arms behind her to snap on a stasis lock bar unpowered and barely clasped as the other servo pinned her upper chassis over the counter.

"What the slag!" She vented roughly, struggling automatically for a second.

"Not slag. Frag," he purred, leaning over her back. She wiggled to pull away from him. He pinned her flat with his greater armored weight, holding her in place. He gave her a single swat on her aft, not to damage but enough she felt his warning intent.

An energy pulse surged across Firestar’s neurons, his dominance making her engine rev harder. Her soft moan did not escape his heightened senses. He swatted her aft again to hear that revving sound. And again before she stilled.

“The more you struggle, the longer you suffer,” Mirage smiled unseen, reading her reactions as her valve clenched on empty air.

“Make me overload. To remember, to feel wanted and you can take me all you want,” Firestar half sobbed, confessing.

“Honesty. And I will gentle femme,” Mirage slid his hand down her aft, striking it again. Then cupping it before snaking around to her inner leg and upward. Firestar mewed, no longer struggling in his grip as her legs moved wider apart. “I will take you when you are not expecting. I will appear behind you; be the breeze you feel on your check plating. The soft sound near you in a silent hallway. The echo of a step you cannot pinpoint. I will take you as mine and you will submit. Then you will beg and scream in pleasure remembering it began with this confession.”

“Please. I need,” she vented faster, pushing back at him.

“When I allow.” Mirage tilted his upper frame back, aligning his hardened rod under her opening. He vented once, then slowly pushed in full length as she arched crying out. “Your reward for compliance.”

Repeated overloads and spark merges had them both stasis locked before the final beaker solution solidified.

**RATCHET’S PRIVATE QUARTERS**

"Despite all your snarky remarks, short fused temper, and general carry on, you are one hot mech on the recharge berth," Moonracer admitted.

"Translated I am mature, smart as pit and know exactly what I am doing. As Chief Medic over this crazy crew, I have seen and heard nearly every technique of combining, interfacing or repaired the ones that failed. Not an area I ever expected to master when starting medical training. Every mech learns and develops their own pattern as they age. Optimus, our one and only Prime loves to take his time, sending the femme crashing into overload with foreplay alone. And more than once if he can, before interfacing," he said, watching Moonracer move. Not as a lover or in lust but as a medic confirming her recent repairs and noting maintenance for her next official exam. No other mech would ever touch her again. For any reason in any way.

"Who cares as long as you are warm and stretched? And is he really that big?" Hopping onto the berth, she missed his frown of concern while stretching out to rest. The continued fluctuation in her energy field made no sense.

"Yes he is from a medical standpoint and no, safety foreplay is not the reason. It is his massive ego. I am the big strong mech that can control myself while you femme scream and writhe into overload. Ironhide is even more primitive." His voice deepened to Ironhide's bass. "Spread ‘em so I can hump you like a rabid cyber wolf. Femme against the hallway wall or anywhere I can hump you regardless of who might see or find us."

Giggling, Moonracer did not argue, hearing Chromia's side more than once. Worse, hearing them through the wall as Moonracer’s first assigned quarters had been alongside their room until the hallway extension had been completed. Turning onto her front plates, she stretched out one arm to rest on like a pillow before relaxing even more. Her blue coloring contrasting with the newly laid out recharge cover. “If you are going to stand there, you might want to pick up the mess you left on the floor. Make yourself useful."

"Useful? You have no idea what I can do," he smiled, moving to stand in the doorway to the main room. Sliding his hand through the air, he started above his head moving it gently side to side until he reached hip height. The smile became a smirk as she gasped, grabbing at her own form.

Echoes of his touch faded from her frame; the reaction undeniable. "Are you residually linked into my systems? That is illegal! Immoral and...oh...oh...ohhhhhhh."

"Are we getting warmer?" Ratchet already knew the answer, even without his enhanced optics providing thermal readings. His fingers wiggled, transmitting the motion to her valve rim.

"How?" Moonracer protested, shifting to lean against the wall, feet pads tucked under her. Firewalls and virus protections were running on full with no intrusions or open signals reported.

"Medical knowledge and marathon love making. You have enough of my trans fluid in your systems for an orn. Trans fluid has two purposes. The first is to power a femme with the extra energy to facilitate her spark for creating a sparkling essence. Second, it is drawn into your holding tank and adapted into your main fuel cell energon," Ratchet automatically began teaching.

"I know that, my medical training when we first met remember?"

"My coding is literally flowing in your lines. As a medic, I need to access any system at any time. And we have spark merged. I can feel your presence in my spark as our systems pulse identically. I merely used my knowledge to take advantage of those facts."

"That is sneaky. What else can you do?" she asked.

"Any other mech would be offlined on the floor, limp and drained," he stopped, venting lightly at her snickering. "That too. I have redundant power coils and faster resets as a medic. Yet here I am, wavering on my feet pads but upright while my femme is charged and glowing from my skillful ministrations."

"Glowing?"

"You are so beautiful," Ratchet moved to her side, leaning against berth edge to cup her faceplates in both hands.

"Will you still feel that way tomorrow?" Moonracer challenged, closing her optics to savor the feel of his living pulsing metal on hers.

"To the matrix and beyond. You will always be my one true spark mate," he rested his hand over her chest.

"Are you offering to?" Her optical cores spun fully, the bright blue nearly eclipsing the silver spinners. Hope soared within her, the flowing energon in her lines thudding across her processors.

"You are mine and I am yours forever already. Open your spark to me," his lip plates caressed hers gently before moving down to kiss over her spark plating. A soft magnetic pulse and the seam opened as the plates slide to the side.

"See? Your spark is pulsing to a new frequency..." He froze, his optics going wide at the tiny ball of light moving into view. Internally his diagnostic systems screamed with codes, identifying it, and shunting his medical skills into primary protocols. Processor wise he felt like the entire room had dropped out from under his feet pads. Dazedly, the medic linked into the command schedule, listing himself off duty for the next earth week. Unseen to him, a small alert triggered elsewhere on the Ark.

::Ratchet, can I talk to you?:: Optimus sent, his entire frame still in his office chair. The schedule change blinked in the corner of his main monitor, the off-duty notation worrying him even as it reassured him Ratchet remained online and functional.

:: I am going to be... with Moonracer:: Ratchet began, the mental tone sounding agitated as his words ran together over the comm line. Gently he closed her protective plating, kissing her again before plotting the fastest and safest path to med bay.

:: That is good news. I approve of your relationship with her:: Optimus offered, hoping to forestall the temper explosion he expected.

:: No, I am a... sparkling:: Ratchet sent, pausing to scoop Moonracer up into his arms. The femme smiled, not sure of what was happening but trusting him.

:: Is that an apology for changing my coding?:: Optimus stood, heading out of his office.

::No, we made...Moonracer...a spark merge...and:: Ratchet's mental tone faded in and out as he called ahead to med bay, triggering equipment and paging both Wheeljack and First Aid to med bay.

::I do not need to know that:: Optimus sent back cautiously, tracking the medic's moving signal.

:: Father prank!:: Ratchet stated, as though the words solved everything.

Optimus winced, feeling an astro second of panic as he waited by the elevator. They needed their chief medic, almost as much as they needed him as Prime. ''What have I done? I have never heard him erratic like this. Not even on the battlefield or overcharged. Do not panic, there must be a solution. We can strip the program from his system and reset his processors. Medics have double backups of everything.'

:: Moving around her spark! Mine!:: Ratchet added, riding in the other elevator as it ascended to the medical floor.

:: I do not need details; I have my own femme. Can you meet me in med bay?:: Optimus offered, surprised at the sheer strength of the answer back.

:: YES! Rolling now!:: Ratchet sent, intent on reaching his domain with his spark mate. His equipment, his tools could confirm what he could barely believe. Intent on the goal, his systems never registered the large moving mass approaching from the other hallway. All he saw was the double doors to med bay opened, his assistant stepping out.

KA WHAM!

First Aid blinked, optics clearing from the flash of colors and slamming metal. Colliding unexpectedly, both mechs tried protecting the femme instinctively before systems had fully engaged. Ratchet was lifting Moonracer higher, nearly throwing her into the air while the ancient Prime was trying to duck under and twist to catch her. In the end, Ratchet went crumpling backwards, warnings flashing as Optimus’ heavier weight slammed shoulder first into his chassis only half turned. More alert and energized, she merely twisted to land on top of them both.

Laughing, Moonracer sat on Optimus' legs, patting his aft with both hands. "Always wanted to do that," she chuckled, sliding off to stand near the wall.

"Most femmes do," Optimus murmured, his faceplates heating with embarrassment as he shifted off Ratchet. Stepping back, he crouched lower defensively, his hands ready for combat moves. If Ratchet went berserk, he would protect the femme. Then throw the malfunctioning medic through the med bay doors, the room locking down his weapons with its designed protections.

Without his customary battle armor, the slamming into the floor rattled Ratchet, Optimus mass adding to the impact force. Moonracer was his first processing, sitting up to look for her. He ignored the warnings flashing across his vision, not waiting for his compensators to reset before standing. Then the world went black as the floor met him.

**MEDICAL BAY  
A BREEM LATER**

Ratchet's helm rolled to the side, noting Red Alert, Mirage and Prowl laid out on the adjoining medical berths. No char marks, missing limbs or obvious injuries marred their reclining forms. The scanners on the side tables refused to answer his data requests. He remembered needing to reach med bay with Moonracer then what? And why was he down? Who the slag had been messing with his patients?

"What happened to them? How long was I out? Where is Moonracer?" He asked, his tone cranky.

"Here, and third question, not too far down the priority list," she greeted him, her armored fingers inter clasping his.

"Where is the rest of your armor?"

"Your quarters," she gently reminded.

"They are our quarters now. And about to get fuller," he sat up gingerly, systems slowly returning online. He realized he had armor missing and dismissed it. Processors were needed, kibble could be returned later.

"We collided in the hallway, my bad," Optimus admitted sheepishly, standing to the left of the medical berth.

"That explains the neuron ache. No wonder Megatron always retreats. Did you run over them too?" He pointed at the other patients.

"System quarantine, confirmed a transmittable exclusion by direct link in one instance, affecting only the mechs. I suspect Mirage as the primary carrier, possibly a Deception code dormant in his systems. Implanted without his knowledge on a mission," First Aid explained.

"Negative. Of all the scouts, he is the most conscious of post mission decontamination, especially after the Insecticon incident. I scanned him his last physical post mission," Ratchet reached out, intertwining his fingers with Moonracer's fingers.

"Nevertheless, he fired at Hoist when he was entering the research lab, shouting 'mine!' and 'stay away' indicating knowledge of being compromised before the doors closed. Hoist called Red Alert to help subdue Mirage after talking to Firestar. She checked out functional if exhausted," First Aid deliberately omitted she and Mirage interfacing once he determined it was consensual and she was unaffected. He allowed her to return to her quarters with the promise to call medical immediately if needed. And kept his optics averted from the stains on her and the dangling stasis cuffs on one ankle gear as she slowly ambled away.

"Where did Mirage blast him then?" Ratchet wanted to confirm Moonracer carrying, but three damaged mechs took priority. Once the room quit moving and heaving under him.

"Red Alert is not injured, not physically. I stasis locked him. After cuffing him, Red Alert accessed Mirage's wrist data link to determine if med bay or the brig was appropriate," he explained.

"That thick chipped slagger! Leave medical diagnosis to us, we're trained for it," Ratchet grumbled, tempted to throw a wrench at the other's red and white inert form then passed. More fun when the target was moving. And yelled when hit.

"The virus transferred at that time but didn't activate until later. He ordered Mirage for transport to med bay and Hoist to meet at his office to file the situation post report. He never showed and Hoist called Prowl once I determined an unknown program addition in Mirage's systems. We tracked him to the upper level, inside an office area still under construction," his assistant concluded.

"Where did Red Alert blast Prowl then?" Optimus asked.

"He didn't. He and the femme Discharge, the new arrival from Cybertron," he began.

"I know who she is. Smart femme with a terrible earth designation. Makes me wonder what else she will pick that is questionable," Ratchet snapped.

"Red Alert. They were...that is..." the medical assistant's faceplate heated, remembering the retrieved image from Prowl's processor. The presence of Prime and a femme in the room only made his embarrassment worse.

"Well?" Ratchet snapped.

"Coupling in a unique manner that triggered Prowl's logic glitch when the office door opened, and he saw them. The standard crash alert to med bay notified me he was down and needed retrieval," he finished.

"Mister safe and secure and the femme were doing what?" Moonracer repeated, giggling.

Wordlessly the assistant sent the image to his boss’ comm signal, letting him open it. He would never send it to a femme. Ratchet's blue optics widened. "Oh my Primus! Red is going to need a neuron spine replacement twisting up under her that way on that chair. How did they even process that position with him half on the floor and her sitting!"

"Remember the gag gift from the human Sam? The present to Bumblebee that the twins ended up with?" Optimus voiced first, his cooling fans running faster. As Prime, he knew of all problems on the Ark, including thefts. He put the clues together rapidly.

"Vaguely, I am not into human books," Ratchet admitted.

"It was not a book. It was a daily page by page calendar. 365 sex positions for humans and that is why it was confiscated it from the twins who stole it from Bumblebee’s shelf. It was supposed to be locked in Prowl's safe to be destroyed. Obviously, Red Alert read it before turning it in," he said, scratching at the side of his helm.

Ratchet covered his optics with his hands, promising himself to personally deal with Sam his next physical. And clear Red Alert’s memory and let Jazz steal the calendar to safety before welding the twins to the ceiling of their room. "Remind me to never let humans near our sparkling."

"What sparkling?" three voices repeated but only one mattered. Hers.

"Our sparkling Moonie. The one you are now carrying," Ratchet's optics locked with hers, the smile blooming across her faceplates enhancing her beauty.

_To be continued..._

**Author's Note:**

> Next up: Complications with Mirage and Jazz is missing. Last known location was a stealth mission on a Decepticon base. And how hard could it be to move Moonracer's stuff in his quarter's? For Ratchet, one more unexpected stressor as Happily Ever After takes its time.


End file.
